


nothing was the same

by king_wizard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Ass Play, Barebacking, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Coming Untouched, Crying Dean, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Dubious consent due to edging/fuck or die, Fuck Or Die, Kidnapped Dean, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, Schmoop, Sex Toys, Top Sam, Toppy Bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_wizard/pseuds/king_wizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They aren't lying to each other anymore. They aren't lying to themselves. Keeping with that sentiment, Sam licks his lips and doesn't even try to tell himself the sight before him isn't a wet dream come true.</p><p>(Fill for spn_otpkink meme prompt requesting kidnapped!edged!Dean, toppy!Sam, rough sex and Sam not being able to resist playing with Dean's oversensitive body. Takes place in a vague future of S9.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing was the same

The past is not behind them. Its teeth aren't quite in their heels anymore, though, and their promises are closer than their betrayals.  
  
They aren't lying to each other anymore. They aren't lying to themselves.  
  
Keeping with that sentiment, Sam licks his lips and doesn't even try to tell himself the sight before him isn't a wet dream come true.  
  
Muffled moans are bleeding through the gag between Dean's obscenely red lips. The cotton is soaked with spit and sweat. Probably tears, too, because there are marked tracks on Dean's skin, and the blindfold around his eyes is sopping.  
  
Golden hued cuffs hold Dean's wrists and ankles to a spindled headboard. The deep richness of the color shines against his skin, gives him a glowing hue. He looks pale and golden, human and ethereal and out of Sam's star swiping reach.  
  
Dean's muscles flex and flow as he strains against the wrist cuffs. His heels have sunk inches into the mattress, offering a little leverage to push his hips into the air, but not enough for them to fully leave the bed. He's stuck, managing only pitiful stabs into the emptiness, purple kissed red cock jumping with each pathetic movement. (Sam's own cock pulses at the sight.)  
  
Sam licks his lips and wonders how long Dean has been edge, how long it took to make him into this desperate  _mess_.  
  
The Guild managed to wrangle Dean to their headquarters nearly a day ago. Sam thought they needed at least ten hours to prepare for the ritual, but maybe this was the preparation. ( _Tying Dean to the bed, getting him so hard that his dick is a strangely tempting shade of violet, drawing him to the edge but never letting him tip off the cliff_.) It took another two hours to drive from the redwood forest to the suburb that served as Guild headquarters.  
  
Christ. Dean's been like this for at least half a day.  
  
If Sam had no self-control, he would've already tugged his dick out of his too rough jeans. If he hadn't promised not to lie to his brother again, he would tell Dean he stormed the Guild's den of debauchery five minutes from now, break at the good intention shattering scene, and paint Dean's trembling thighs with come.  
  
"Too...late."  
  
Sam turns to his right to find a Guild apprentice trembling in the bedroom's door frame. He can't recall her name, but he does recall her delicate features and the way she watched Dean's movements.   
  
Her emerald robes are stained crimson, thick and wet and clinging to the wound he had sliced into her leader's, and by extension, every member's, side.  
  
Shaking, blood stained fingers raise towards him. "Too late," she coughs again, gurgling through blood.  
  
Sam is on her as soon as the words register.  
  
"No," he hisses as he grips her, presses her into the frame. She winces but laughs through it. Blood trickles down her chin. "I stopped the spell. Your leader didn't finish Aphrodite's call."  
  
She laughs, and Sam tightens his hands in her robes. "The call…has been made. His body...sings to her. Can't - can't you hear it?" Her eyes slide, slow and soft, dying, to Dean. He's still writhing on the bed, cock bobbing blood thick and obscene as he practically humps the air. Sam swallows. "You  _can_..."  
  
"Tell me how to stop it," he growls.   
  
Pain flickers over her pale, pretty features. He remembers how giddy she'd been when they first spoke to her, how she'd touted she was going to finally become a master, finally become one with the great leader. It was the connection with the great leader, the bindng of their life forces through magic, that killed the rest of the Guild. Her apprentice connection has given her extra time, but it hasn't saved her life. Sam doesn't have long.  
  
"We - " she wheezes, then coughs. Coughs blood and phlegm, all over Sam's shirt, and shakes in her bones. Sam can feel her dying, and panic frenzies his bones. He can't lose her - he can't lose Dean, not _again_ , not after  _everything_. "We bound him. And now I bind him to you. The Golden Goddess... _will_ have her sacrifices."  
  
She chokes, and Sam thinks he's watched her breathe her last breath.  
  
Then she inhales. Her eyes snap wide, and her wet fingers swipe across Sam's hands, and she whispers. Sam can't quite hear every word, but he does catch some. Greek, of course, the language of all of their rituals and spells.  
  
Another desert breath rattles in her chest, and her eyes flutter closed.  
  
-  
  
Sam is shaking as he tries to soothe Dean into stillness. "It's just me," he whispers. Trembling fingers slide under Dean's head to work the blindfold off. He would tell himself he's removing the blindfold first so Dean will be calmed by the sight of his Sammy here to rescue him, but he's not lying anymore, so he quietly admits he wants to see Dean's wrecked eyes while he's still cuffed to the bed.  
  
He slides the blindfold from Dean's eyes, breath catching in his chest at the shattered, tearful way Dean blinks up to him. His golden lashes are clumped together, and the winter white of his eyes has been eaten by pink. The damp heat brightens the emerald of his gaze, the shine of them.  
  
Dean's gaze is too frantic to be relieved, but he does ease upon seeing Sam. His movements become slower, but not a breath less wanton or less tempting.  
  
"Hey." Sam’s voice is hoarse. Dean groans and arches towards him, dick slapping in the air, as if he's trying to roll his too sensitive body in the roughness of Sam's tone. More to himself than Dean, he says, "I gotta get you outta here."  
  
Instead of reaching to release Dean's wrist, Sam dips his fingers into the knot between Dean's teeth.  
  
His fingers brush the spit slick, spit warm of Dean's mouth. He wants to press his fingertips into Dean's lips, watch the pink flesh give to Sam's pressure, but he focuses on jimmying the wet fabric apart.  
  
The knot breaks, and Dean immediately begins talking.  _Begging_ , really; begging with his wet mouth brushing Sam's fingers as he eases the gag away. Sam's shaky breath is covered by Dean's words.  
  
"Please. Please, please, Suh-Sammy, please."  
  
Dean's squirming hard again, rolling his hips from side to side, dick swaying stiff with the movements. Sam's gaze travels down the seizing muscles of his brother's body, fixate on the painful stabs of his brother's hips, and feels like he's choking.  
  
"I'm sorry, but you gotta - please, Sam, I can't take it. I  _can't_ , I'm sorry, but I gotta - I gotta, fuckin'  _hurts_ , man."  
  
Sam is swept by the words and writhes, but when Dean whimpers so sweetly on the last plea, Sam realizes he's in danger of being swept away.  
  
"Okay," he says, dry mouthed and dumb. "It's okay, Dean. Gonna untie you and then - "  
  
"Don't need - " Dean hisses, fresh tears welling in his eyes. Sam's hands hover over a cuff. He wants to  _watch_ , offer no comfort or release, just wait and _watch_  until those tears fall on Dean's skin. He wants to lick the salt away, feel the heat the tears leave. He's snapped violently from his fantasy when Dean loosens a deep, sobbing noise. "Need to  _come_."  
  
Instantly the fear of the guild member's last words, of losing Dean again, melts. Sam can't feel the terror or panic. He can't think. He can't breathe.  
  
Instinct and fantasy and every dark, bone deep feeling he's ever had for his brother jump to fire at the words. His cock, already straining against his jeans, rushes impossibly harder and hotter with blood.   
  
"I'll untie your hands," Sam says, shaken and desperately curling his fists around unbearable lust.  
  
" _Now_ ," Dean cries.  _Crie_ s, tears rolling down his cheeks, voice roughened and pleading. He's desperate, and it's devastating Sam just as deeply as it's devastating Dean, because Sam has never seen anything so decadent.  
  
Suddenly it feels sinful to see Dean, fallen so prettily apart and spread for everything Sam has ever wanted. Not even because Dean is his brother, but because Dean is broken open so god damn beautifully it can't possibly be good for Sam's immortal soul.  
  
"Just - I can't - not another second, Sammy. Sorry , sorry, but I'm gonna go crazy if I don't." His pooled eyes, so large and so wet, tremble as he blinks.  
  
"Okay," Sam repeats slowly. He licks his arid lips. "But I don't... You gotta tell me what you need me to do, man."  
  
Briefly, Sam thinks of pointing out that if he uncuffed Dean when he first reached to, Dean could have come by now.  
  
That would be lying, though, Sam thinks with muddled not-quite-logic. Pretending he wouldn't rather be the one to get Dean off would be a lie.  
  
"There's a - a toy -  _fuck_."  
  
Sam feels dizzy, faint, too hot to breathe. Gaze hazy, he peers down his brother's body, eyes falling to a flash of black under Dean's left thigh. He grips the headboard against a crashing wave of lust.  
  
"Just turn it on," Dean pleads, miserable, eyes closed. "I know s'fucked up but - but I - I'm gonna die, Sammy. It feels like I'm gonna  _die_."  
  
Sam can fucking relate.  
  
"If you just put it in - " Sam barely stifles a groan as his eyes fall shut, thinks of shoving his cock in Dean instead of the toy because surely that would be better, get Dean off faster, harder. " - and turn it on, I'll - swear m'close, so close, and then I can, but you gotta do it now 'cause I'm dyin' Sammy."  
  
In his bones, Sam knows it's wrong to reach for the vibrator and ease it from under Dean's thigh. Dean is his  _brother_ , not in his right mind, too strung out and on edge to realize the weight of what he's asking for.  
  
But Sam’s hands are honest in their wrongness. Honest and raw with the crush of his desire as he grips the vibe in one hand and sooths the other from Dean's calf to grip his knee.  
  
"Bend your knees.” With a wrenching sob, Dean does, pulling them as far up his chest as the slack in his chains will allow.  
  
Sam's lungs collapse at the sight of Dean's ass. Ample flesh, pale and  _freckled_ , sloping into the prettiest hole Sam's ever seen. Dean is so  _pink_ : deep, rosy, wet pink. His rim angry and dark with it, twitching, trying to close but gaping wide enough that Sam can see the softer, inviting shades of pink inside.  
  
"How long," Sam begins roughly, thumb absently stroking Dean's knee as he slides to the bed, peers deeper into Dean's body.   
  
Dean hiccups against a wave of tears. It should tug at something tender in Sam, urge him to give his brother relief. It only sharpens Sam's desire, the sick slide that wants to keep Dean sobbing and begging and at his mercy. ( _He's never wanted that, his partners tears, but Dean is...Dean is different. Makes Sam feel different_.)   
  
"How long did they have this in you, Dean? You're so – Christ. They fucked you  _sloppy_."  
  
“Dun - dun know. They kept - they wouldn't take it out. N-not 'til I wanted it, fuckin' assholes, then... Just - just put it back in, Sammy. I need it."  
  
Sam thinks Dean needs a real dick more, but he nudges Dean's fucked out hole with the tip of the toy. Dean howls at the touch, body seizing, hips arching, trying to fuck himself onto the half inch that isn't even inside of him yet.  
  
"Calm down. Dean. Settle, or I won't be able to get it in," Sam breathes, entranced by the way black pushes between the deep pink of Dean's hole. Dean groans but stills. "Good," Sam says, glancing at Dean's face to see the sweat and tears and Dean's red, panting mouth. He watches Dean's lips fall open even wider as he slides the vibrator further. "See. This'll be so much easier if you're - "  
  
Still, Sam is going to say, but Dean interrupts him. "Good," Dean sobs. "Fuck - God, I know, okay, I just gotta be good. I'll t-try, just – _c’mon_."  
  
Sam pauses, drawing another whine and restless wriggle from his brother. "Is that what they told you?"  
  
Dean nods, then moans low and long, like he's never been more satisfied in his life than he is now, with Sammy stabbing a few inches of a thick black toy into his slick ass.  
  
"Said - said I could come if I was good."  
  
"Yeah," Sam says before halting the toy. Dean cries his name, a sound Sam could very easily come to crave. "Same deal, Dean. You gotta be good for me, then you can come."  
  
Sam knows he's beyond fucked up, bordering on cruel. But Dean doesn't know anything in his desperate state other than he needs to come, and he agrees to the conditions with a quick shake of his head.  
  
-  
  
Sam twists the toy as he pushes it, slow and steady and deep, inside Dean's ass. The pulse is at the third level, and there are three more to go. Dean cries out louder than a Hollywood hooker, sloppy asshole swallowing all eight inches of the fake cock.  
  
Sam doesn't know if either of them are going to make it to level six.  
  
He's lying on his front, dick pressed to the teeth of his zipper, pre-come spotting his boxer briefs. His wrist aches from the angle, but it's worth any pain for the up close view of vibrating plastic sliding into Dean's hole.  
  
Obscenities and pleas and  _Sammy Sammy Sam_  flow from Dean's mouth. The words and sounds soak Sam's outside, sink inside, and he knows he'll have these noises with him forever. They will haunt his skin.  
  
-  
  
By the time they've made it to the fifth setting, Dean can't stop sobbing or trembling, and his dick is the same dull, deep purple of a throat that's been held too tightly. He still hasn't come.  
  
Sam stopped teasing a while ago. Felt too cruel and too small for his skin. Stabbed Dean as deep and hard as he could with the vibrator, slid it right to the hilt and told Dean to scream when he found his prostate, then twisted the toy against the spot over and over and over again. Dean had cried, cursed Sam, blessed him, but hadn't come.  
  
"You need something else, Dean?" Sam asks, plunging the vibe in and out at a punishing speed. "Need more?" Frantically, Dean nods. Sam twists the knob at the end of the vibrator. It pulses so fiercely his hand begins buzzing too.  
  
"Fuck! Fuckin'...damn it!" Dean screams, so loud he could bring the walls crashing down.  
  
Sam twists the vibe again before pulling it nearly all the way out, tip almost popping from Dean's clinging hole, then slamming it back inside. Dean yells for him again, but as violently as his cock twitches, as much hot pre-come bubbles to the head, his orgasm lies just out of reach.  
  
Sam moves forward slowly, letting his panted breath fall damp and warm over Dean's dick. Dean cries out, "Sa - Sam!", and Sam closes the distance between his tongue and Dean's burning skin. "Uh, God - Sammy. Don't, not s'pposed to - "  
  
"You don't want me to suck your cock?" Sam asks, sounding as if he's already had Dean's dick buried in his throat.  
  
Dean thrashes against his bonds. He nods and shakes his head, sobs. He isn't in any position to refuse a blowjob or beg for one, really. His mind is too muddled to process the words, the consequences of them, and his body is too sensitive and pliant to know if Sam's mouth would make things better or worse.  
  
"I could make you come like that," Sam tells him, still fucking the toy in and out with brutal snaps of his wrist. "Suck you so far down, make you come so damn hard - "  
  
" _Yes_. Yes, that, Sam. Make me come. Make me come."  
  
Sam slows the thrusts of the vibe. Dean whimpers at the loss, but moans at the gain of Sam's tongue licking over more of his heated flesh.  
  
Dean tastes so good: deep and dark like whiskey, the sour and musk of sweat that Sam basks in after a long, mind freeing run. Sam wants this to coat his mouth forever, wants to swallow and taste his brother.  
  
He scoots forward on the bed to take Dean deeper into his mouth. He sucks hard, fucks hard, stilling himself in anticipation of Dean's exploding climax.  
  
Dean doesn't come.  
  
-  
  
Books, parchments, ritual materials, and a graveyard of Coca Cola cans are spread across the kitchen table. Sam searches furiously through each piece.  
  
Up the stairs, he can still hear his brother. Moaning, begging, crying for him. It's  _distracting_.  
  
He's tempted to storm the stairs and throw Dean's body over his shoulder, carry him to the Impala and rush back to the motel.  
  
He's more than tempted to storm the stairs and throw Dean's legs over his shoulders, just fuck the orgasm that won't come out of him through sheer force. He knows Dean's ass would feel so, so good around his cock. Hot, all slick and sloppy, and so open Sam could just slide right inside, easy as a hot blade through butter.  
  
Dean would clench his wet, pretty pink hole tight as a vice around him, so hungry to keep Sam buried deep inside. He would cry and beg, eager and slutty, desperate. He would give it up so sweetly, take Sam's cock as prettily as he took the dildo. He would be so needy, so ready to let Sam do anything, as long as Sam could make him come.  
  
Sam digs his fingers into a stack of scrap paper. He hears Dean call for him, promise to be good, so fuckin' good if Sammy will make him come -  
  
Sam's eyes flit furious over page after page. He's growing as frantic as his brother, as desperate.  
  
A symbol jumps at him. He pauses in his skimming, re-reads the paragraph before, and stops.  
  
 _Binding. Sacrifices. Release._  
  
Fuck.  
  
-  
  
Sam can't decide if fucking Dean to save his life is the same as Dean handing Sam's meat suit to an angel. He doesn't know if this makes them even, if this makes him better, worse.  
  
Technically, Dean won't die if he doesn't come before Aphrodite hears the call; he'll just be her property. But he will be gone, and Sam is never letting Dean go again.  
  
Those logistics aren't going to make sense to Dean's fevered brain, though, and Dean isn't in any place to refuse him or consent, so Sam doesn't offer a detailed explanation. Instead, he gives Dean the simplest words he can.  
  
"You can't come if I don't."  
  
Dean doesn't hesitate before snarling, "Then  _come_ , Sam. Jesus Christ."  
  
Sam doesn't hesitate, either. They've left the time for hesitation in the dust. They’ve left lying, pretending, which is just as deep of a deception.  There is only time for honesty and impulse now.  
  
He strides fully into the room and snaps the cuff on Dean's left ankle.  
  
Dean raises his head, watches him with blown eyes and hazy comprehension. "What're you…? Thought you said – I needed you to, to - "  
  
"You do," Sam says, undoing the other cuff. Dean makes a hurt noise as he bends his legs fully, twisting them against one another. "You can't come until I do, so you need me to come."  
  
"Yeah," Dean pants in dazed agreement. Sam doesn't know if he even understands the words. But then Dean adds, "Need you to come, Sammy," and Sam doesn't know anything that isn't the feeling of Dean trembling under his palms.  
  
Sam removes his hands from Dean's calf only long enough to strip himself. He does it quickly, no time for patience. He needs to be in Dean  _a decade ago_.  
  
Sam slides his hands along Dean's legs, the cut of his hips, his sides, as he moves over Dean's body.  
  
"Sam? Wha –  _ah_."  
  
Sam matches the helpless hiss of Dean's moan as he settles his shoulders between Dean's thighs, pushing forward so Dean's trembling legs bend towards his chest.  
  
Sam runs his fingertips down the back of Dean's soft, soft thighs. Sam watches his fingers paint shivers through the sweet skin, wants to feel them in his teeth. He could plant a garden here, mottled purple and lover red, just mark the skin until Dean couldn't wear his favorite tight jeans anymore for the way they squeezed his bruised thighs.  
  
"Sammy?"  
  
His brother is staring at him with eyes wide and vulnerable. They beg Sam to hold the fragile things he finds gently, to take care of the softness inside.  
  
Sam drops one hand to Dean's hip, rubs his fingers against Dean's smooth skin then cards them through the thick dark of Dean's pubic hair. Dean arches into the touch.  
  
Sam gives him a little of what he wants - a little relief, a little release - by wrapping his hand loosely around the base of Dean's cock. Dean cries his name, and Sam rubs his thumb along the length of Dean's dick, savoring the silky heat against his skin.  
  
He doesn't give Dean everything he wants, though. Not yet.  
  
"S-stop fuckin' 'round. Need you to come, Sam, c'mon."  
  
"I'm gonna come in your ass," Sam grits, tightening his grip on Dean's pretty, pitiful cock.  
  
His face heats with the words. He's only heard lines like that in the pornos Dean watches. But he wants Dean to know, needs Dean to understand, what's going to happen. And that is what's going to happen, because Sam coming in any way that doesn't involve his cock buried in that deep, hurting place inside Dean's ass would be a lie.  
  
Dean shakes his head, as if there are any other options, as if there ever have been. It's not as if Sam can duck into the bathroom and rub one out, not while his brother lies needy and desperate and so fucking beautiful on the bed.  
  
Even if Sam could, he wouldn't. He's not lying anymore.  
  
There's no need for extra prep. Sam is thicker than the toy, longer, but Dean's hole is so fucked out, opened so damn easy for the vibrator, Sam could probably fuck his dick and the toy inside.  
  
Sam brushes his fingers over Dean's balls, then his ass, rubs the pads over Dean's slick rim. It's hot enough to burn Sam's skin.  
  
He pushes two fingers into Dean's asshole, easiest and sloppiest slide he's ever felt. Adding a third finger, he begins to thrust. He wriggles his fingers inside of his brother, pushes in then pulls out. Dean's cock, still that mottled red, deep and delicious, slaps wetly against his belly.  
  
"So fucking pretty.” Dean whines as Sam wraps his free fist around Dean's dick again in a firm, dry grasp. "Even your dick is pretty." Dean twists in his grip, and Sam lets him. He focuses on rubbing his thumb over the nearly purple head, gathering drizzles of pre-come.  
  
"So sensitive." Sam eases the pressure of his grip, of his thumb, moving in feather light circles around Dean's slit. "Is it always like this? Is your cock always so sensitive? Are you always this easy?”  
  
Dean doesn't answer. Sam suspects that between the caress and the quick jabs of his fingers, Dean can't.  
  
Sam's own cock is aching, fierce, and he wants so badly it  _hurts_. He grips the underside of both of Dean's thighs, strong but yielding under his fingers, then slides them against his chest. Dean's legs tremble. Sam feels solid against the flimsy movements: sturdy and whole, strong enough to keep Dean together and tear him apart.  
  
"Legs on me," Sam says, rough and quick. Shaking, Dean curls his knees over Sam's shoulders.  
  
Dean's face is too hazy with desperation, need, want, for any hesitation or fear. If Sam stopped to think, to even breathe, he would remember Dean was compromised: drugged on his own need, incapable of comprehending, saying no.  
  
Sam can't stop, though.  
  
He grips his own dick, runs the drooling, mushroom head around Dean's stretched rim. He means it as a tease, but Dean's just  _gaping,_ and the flared ridge of his cock slips inside.  
  
"Ah - shit." Dean shifts his hips, pushing to take more than an awkward inch of Sam's dick, and Sam chokes at the feeling of his cockhead being full enveloped in the wet heat. "Yeah,  _finally_ , c'mon, c'mon."  
  
Wrenching his control, he grits his teeth and pulls away. Dean whines, a panicked sound, and his hands flutter wildly against the headboard. He slides his legs around Sam's waist, gripping him like he doesn't plan on ever letting go. ( _Sam definately wouldn't mind a forever buried between Dean's thighs_.)  
  
Sam shakes his head when Dean tries to pull him closer. He grips Dean's ass, fingers sinking into the skin as if they're searching for bone, and Dean makes a pretty noise of hurt.  
  
"Fuck - ah,  _fuck you_ , Sam, fuckin' tease." Dean continues to curse at him as he wriggles in Sam's grip, trying to lower his hips, swallow Sam's cock up with his ass. Sam is unrelenting in his hold. "St-stop bein' such a bitch, why are you - you - ?" Dean cries. He hiccups on the next sob. Sniffles. Trembles. So heartbreaking, so gorgeous, and Sam doesn't know if he wants to soothe the tears away or make more. "You better come - come in me right  _now_ , 'ammy, s-swear to God, you better."  
  
"I told you to be still," Sam says, pitching his voice low. The register rolls through Dean, who shudders with his sob. "Be good, Dean. You were good for me before." It's not a question, but Dean nods. Sam smiles, indulges himself by releasing one of Dean's thighs to thumb along the cut of his cheek bone. "I'm gonna make you come. I promise. All you gotta do is be good for me, big brother, just let me fuck you hard."  
  
"G-get to it then, bitch," Dean growls. It's a little pitiful, wet and shaking with tears. It's also hot, and fuck, Sam is gonna have to do some soul searching into these kinks he never realized he had, but it is. How vulnerable Dean is. How utterly at Sam's mercy. How pliant and sweet and needy.  
  
Sam's eyes drop to Dean's still straining, painfully flushed cock. He strokes Dean's face one last time before wrapping his hand around it. Dean hisses. Sam knows the touch must feel so good it hurts, and it must hurt Dean all the more knowing that Sam can play with his pretty dick all he wants and Dean still won't come. Sam can't stop touching it, can't resist rolling those pinched, pleasure-pain pants over Dean's face and dragging those begging little noises from Dean's chest.  
  
He keeps playing, running his fingertips and knuckles along the length, swiping the edge of his nail over the head, slapping it with soft movements against both of their bellies, even as he positions his cockhead over Dean's open asshole again.  
  
Dean wants to demand, or beg, or surge up to take Sam's dick on his own; Sam can see it in the clench of his jaw. But Dean remains still, good, for Sam, and Sam rewards him.  
  
He pushes inside Dean's ass, balls deep on the first thrust. Neither of them make sounds anywhere near human, groans too low and wild to be anything but hungry animals.  
  
Dean's legs tighten immediately, squeezing the breath out of Sam, but Sam doesn't care if he dies here, dick buried to the root in Dean's ass, and is content to crouch still inside of his brother.  
  
"Move," Dean breathes. It barely sounds like an order. It barely sounds like pleading. Dean opens his eyes and floors him, punches him in the gut, with the blissed out light of his pleasure. " _Move_ , Sam, just - fuckin' please. Fuck me hard. C'mon. Fuck me hard, fuck me hard, fuck me huh -  _fuck_."  
  
Sam rips himself from his brother only to slam back inside. Dean curses with the movement, and his body slides up the bed with its force.  
  
Sam's next thrust isn't quite as brutal - he only slides a few inches of his cock from wet, clinging fire of Dean's ass before moving back in - but it's still rough enough for Dean's head to bounce off a wooden spindle. Sam doesn't slow or ease the snap of his hips with the next movement or the next, setting a rhythm that hurts as much as it pleases.  
  
Dean makes choked, wounded noises each time Sam slams back inside of him. They only make Sam want to fuck in harder, make Dean scream until he's hoarse and unable to do anything but cry as Sam nails him deeper and deeper into the mattress.  
  
He feels like he’s going crazy. Like Dean is making him so fucking crazy he can barely stand it.  
  
He's not going to be able to stop, he realizes, grunting with his next thrust, falling apart inside the unbelievable tightness and slickness and goodness of his brother's body ( _how is he even tight around Sam's dick, Jesus, how does he feel so good_ ). He's not going to be able to have this once and never crave it again. He's already addicted.  
  
"Suh - Sam - Sam-my." Dean can barely catch the breath to say Sam's name. Sam keeps fucking words and syllables out of him. "You gon - gonna - come?"  
  
Yes, Sam thinks, enraged with the realization because he doesn't want to, not yet. He doesn't want Dean to.  
  
He tries to slow his thrusts, but his body growls at him, laughs at the naive notion that he could stop the snap of his hips now. Stalling for more of this torture, Sam palms at Dean's dick again.  
  
The angle of his arm adds a touch of awkward to his movements. He can feel his orgasm falling back from the edge. Trying to catch his breath, he concentrates on deepening his thrusts and playing with Dean's pretty cock.  
  
The ploy doesn't last long. Much as Sam tries to focus on the feeling of Dean's silky skin, the way it slides as he drags his fist over Dean's cockhead, or on the flush kissing Dean's uncountable freckles, his body and brain keep latching to the insane pleasure of Dean's ass clenching hot around him.  
  
"Sam - my.  _Please_ ," Dean begs, open and raw. Sam bites his lip. Not yet, not yet,  _not yet_... Dean closes his eyes, chokes on another sob. "Please. Please, Sammy, it - m'so sore and it - it hurts, Sammy, it _hurts_  - "  
  
Sam growls as heat washes over him. Dean's asshole must be sore, must ache, and Sam's brutal thrusts really must hurt - must hurt so  _bad_ , the way Dean keeps whimpering.  
  
"Hurts, Sammy, you gotta - gotta come in me, hurts."  
  
Sam comes with a shout. He fills Dean's cock stuffed ass with one thick spurt after another. It must sting, Sam thinks, groaning as the thought and Dean's clenching hole milks the last drops from him.  
  
A moment later, Dean cries, " _Sam_ ," and shoots over both of their bellies.  
  
-  
  
Sam makes Dean come two more times.  
  
He licks the come smearing Dean's jumping abs then licks Dean's cock, laves his tongue over the pinkness that just won't soften.  
  
When Dean comes in his mouth, Sam wriggles two fingers inside of his hole. He's even wetter with Sam's come drenching him. Dean writhes on his fingers, whines that he's sore, hurt, can't come again.   
  
Sam ignores him, works him with his fingers rubbing steady over his prostate until his cock gives its last pitiful twitch.  
  
-  
  
Dean sleeps nearly six hours. Sam checks on him periodically to make sure he isn’t dead and hasn’t been stolen by any goddesses.  
  
On his last check, Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s hair.  
  
-  
  
Sam is re-reading all they’ve managed to gather about Cain. The Guild had been an unavoidable distraction from their research; now is time to focus on the bigger picture again.  
  
He’s in the middle of a paragraph he can’t concentrate on when Dean shuffles down the stairs.  
  
Sam’s fingers tense around the book in his hands. He was so confident that Dean wouldn’t be angry with him earlier. He still is, but now he isn’t quite sure he doesn’t deserve Dean’s anger.  
  
Everything seemed so clear when Dean was writhing and bound on the bed, begging Sam to make him come, when both of them were impending sacrifices.  
  
In the dim light of the bunker and the quietness of his own thoughts, though, Sam’s stomach twists uneasy.  
  
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says softly, voice hoarse.  
  
The shaky, gravel skinned state of Dean’s tone settles low and how in Sam’s belly. He’s already thinking about Dean screaming on his cock.  
  
“Hey,” Sam greets, own voice rough. He swallows before gently asking, “You okay?”  
  
Dean nods, offering a small but sincere smile. “Feel like I sat on a damn baseball bat, but other than that. Well, and embarrassed.”  
  
“No.” Sam shakes his head, eyes Dean with an earnest gaze. “No, Dean. Don’t be – you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Anyone would’ve been in a…state, y’know, if they’d been messed with like that. And you were…seriously not embarrassing.” Licking his lips, steeling his courage, he says, “You were fucking hot.”  
  
“I meant embarrassed to be kidnapped by a bunch of nerds,” Dean counters, eyes wide, heat on his cheeks. “But. Uh. Thanks.”  
  
Sam can only blink as Dean mutters something about dinner and moves to the kitchen.  
  
-  
  
Dean returns to the research table with two bowls of leftover stew. Sam takes his without a word.  
  
They eat in silence until suddenly Dean huffs, dropping his spoon.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
“We’re not lying to each other, right?” Dean snaps, but his eyes are wide. He’s scared, trying to make Sam think he’s not.  
  
“Right,” Sam agrees, not pointing out the lie Dean’s gaze is telling.  
  
Dean nods firmly to himself. “Okay.” He taps his fingers on the table, looks at Sam, looks away. “Okay. I don’t – things are kinda hazy,” he says, and Sam tenses. “But I remember what happened. I remember asking… When you first found me, and were gonna untie me.”  
  
“You didn’t want me to,” Sam says, and doesn't know if he's finishing Dean's sentence or offering an explanation, an excuse.  
  
Dean nods again, biting his lip in that distracting way that reminds Sam he never kissed his brother, probably missed his only chance. The thought hurts.  
  
“I thought," Dean begins, then shakes his head and stands, pushing the chair from the table. He paces jerkily around the table.  
  
“Dean, it’s okay - ”  
  
“I wanted you to do it!” Dean shouts, anger and self-loathing sick in his words. His chest heaves and his body trembles.  
  
Sam doesn’t even understand the words, his brain reels so wildly. “What?”  
  
Dean shoots a pained apology from under his lashes. Quiet and drained, Dean sighs, “I thought we wouldn’t get another chance. So I just – I mean, I was fucking gone, out of it, but I knew I could get myself off. I wanted you to do it instead.”  
  
Sam’s clambering out of his seat and striding towards his brother before he realizes he’s moving. He gets his hand around Dean’s shaking shoulders, and his brother looks away.  
  
“I wanted it too,” Sam says, ducking his head in an attempt to catch his brother’s gaze. He needs Dean to  _look_ at him.  
  
"I know," Dean says quietly. He still doesn't meet Sam's gaze.  
  
Emboldened, Sam continues, telling every truth he can. “When I figured out what that girl had done, bound our energy, made us both sacrifices, realized we both had to release all that energy before Aphrodite came to claim it for herself, I knew I could’ve taken care of it myself. All I had to do was come. But it… It felt like a  _lie_ , Dean. Like I was still saying I didn’t want you.”  
  
“I knww that too. I mean, about the ritual. I knew you didn’t have to fuck me,” Dean admits. A humorless laugh spills from Dean, but the pain is dull and distant. “S’not rape if you want it though, right?”  
  
Sam’s hands fall from Dean’s body, burned.  
  
“No,” Dean says, reaching for Sam’s left wrist with his right hand. “No, I didn’t mean.” He makes a frustrated noise. “It’s just. We both fucked up. I mean, we’re both fucked up.”  
  
That, Sam can agree with.  
  
Dean doesn’t say anything else. His thumb does sweep across Sam’s wrist, unconscious affection, and Sam considers his brother for only a moment before stepping closer. They’re inches apart. Dean inhales sharply as he looks up to meet Sam’s gaze.  
  
“We’re not lying to each other anymore,” Sam reiterates.  
  
He waits for Dean to nod, then cups Dean’s jaw. He watches for any tick of hesitation, any sign Dean doesn’t want this. He watches because he knows he won’t find anything but his own devotion reflected back at him.  
  
He slides the hand in Dean’s grip, tangling their fingers together. Embarrassment at the intimacy kisses Dean’s cheeks, and Sam smiles.  
  
Dean’s lips are Heaven soft and pliant, pink petals trembling against Sam’s mouth. They just breathe against each other before Sam’s tongue sweeps Dean’s fat lower lip. Dean breaks at the slick slide. He grips Sam’s sides, bunching fabric in his fists, and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss with a porn star moan that makes Sam’s knees shake and cock ache.  
  
“Wasn’t gonna let her take you,” Sam mouths against Dean’s jaw when they both pull back for air. “You’re  _mine_ , Dean.”  
  
“Mine too,” Dean groans, tilting his head so Sam can suck at the sweet skin of his pulse point.  
  
“Yeah. All yours.”  
  
“S’fucked up,” Dean says again. “We’re – I mean, even for us,  s’fucked up. Ah - !”  
  
He yanks away to glare at Sam, rubbing at the indention of teeth Sam sunk into his soft throat. Sam smirks.  
  
-  
  
Later, when Sam’s legs are tangled with Dean’s and his skin is coated and sweat and come, he takes a moment to be grateful for the truth. 


End file.
